


everything but war

by luxover



Series: The Latent Bonding of Devil Dogs at War [3]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 20:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxover/pseuds/luxover
Summary: He looks at Ray, and Ray feels that tug in the corner of his brain, in the part that he never knew was there until he met Brad, and then he feels himself being pulled half into Brad’s head. It feels like a library almost, a place for everything and everything in its place. Everything quiet. Brad’s head is nothing like the loud, haphazard chaos of Ray’s, and Ray wants to savor it, this time in Brad’s space.





	everything but war

**Author's Note:**

> Not the threequel I keep promising, but a snippet prompted by an anon over on tumblr who asked for [brad for a minute maybe NOT being so bad at the whole bond thing.](http://luxover.tumblr.com/post/174770969372/im-obsessed-with-the-latent-bonding-of-devildogs)

“You’re starting to burn,” Brad says, his fingertips darting out to touch the skin of Ray’s collarbone for just a second. He’s leaning over Ray and blocking the sun.

“Is it sexy?” Ray asks. When he opens his eyes, Brad’s frowning, and Ray fucking hates that; he saw a lifetime of it when they were in Afghanistan, and then again in Iraq, and Ray fucking refuses to see it when they’re at home, too.

He wishes, not for the first time, that Brad let him look. Brad’s a hard read, but it’d be so much easier if Ray could just follow the bond and dip into his head, look and see what Brad’s feeling without having to wait for Brad to implode and admit that he’s feeling anything. But then again, he wouldn’t exactly be  _Ray’s_  Brad if Brad actually let him, and Ray doesn’t fucking want that. Ray wants  _this_  Brad, the one he has right now. It’s just—

A little clarity now and again would be nice. They can’t all be emotionally stunted robo-Vikings with endless sex drives and no need for a vocabulary larger than  _yeah_ and  _come on_  and  _you fucking like that, huh?_

“The fuck are you thinking about?” Brad asks. He makes the same aborted gesture to his temple that he always does when he doesn’t want to say,  _the bond_ , which is always.

“Just how you’ve ruined me for other men, homes,” Ray says, propping himself up on his elbows. He can feel sand stick to his bare back as he does, and he squints up at Brad.

He wonders if Brad can feel how much Ray loves him, or if he’s just a complete fucking idiot in everything but war.

“C’mon,” Brad says. “Put on some sunscreen.”

“I’m already wearing some,” Ray tells him. Brad rolls his eyes, just barely.

“Then put on some more,” he says evenly, and reaches behind himself to unzip his wetsuit. Ray watches him struggle to find the pull on the zipper.

“Want help, homes?” Ray asks.

“Yeah.”

Brad drops down onto the towel in front of Ray. He’s soaking wet, and gets saltwater all over Ray and his abandoned book, just from that movement alone.

Ray finds the zipper pull easily; it’s somehow gotten tucked back into the neckline of the wetsuit, and Brad’s spine straightens and then curves when Ray pulls the string out, the same way Brad’s spine straightens and then curves when Ray trails his fingers down the line of Brad’s back, Brad half asleep and come-dumb in their bed.

Ray unzips the suit. He wants to kiss the back of Brad’s neck as the suit gives way to Brad’s skin, but he doesn’t. He’s not a fucking retard.

“Thanks,” Brad says once the zipper’s down.

“Will that be cash or credit?” Ray jokes, only because it was nothing, not in the grand scheme of things he’s done and is still willing to do for Brad, and then he reaches for his book. Next to him, Brad pull his arms out of the wetsuit but otherwise leaves it on.

“Hey,” Brad says, shifting on the towel. His hand finds Ray’s ankle, his skin cold and wet against Ray’s.

He looks at Ray, and Ray feels that tug in the corner of his brain, in the part that he never knew was there until he met Brad, and then he feels himself being pulled half into Brad’s head. It feels like a library almost, a place for everything and everything in its place. Everything quiet. Brad’s head is nothing like the loud, haphazard chaos of Ray’s, and Ray wants to savor it, this time in Brad’s space.

Brad shows him the ocean, and the burn in his shoulders as he paddles for a wave. Ray can feel it in his own shoulders, and feel the spray of the water on his face. He feels his heart pounding, mostly from anticipation but a little bit from worry, because he knows how it feels to be held under for too long, and he's running the risk of it happening again. And then he sees Afghanistan, the dirt and all their Humvees. His Humvee—no,  _Brad’s_  Humvee, someone’s skinny, camo-clad ass hanging out of the driver’s side door. It’s his ass. That’s Ray. And then Ray turns around and he can feel an earthquake in his chest—in  _Brad’s_  chest—and Ray sees himself smile like a fucking idiot, in a way that he had thought gave everything away but that Brad doesn’t know how to read. And then it’s dark, and Ray’s outside the Humvee yelling,  _Would you please back the fuck up?_ and the cloth lining of his Kevlar is split by some shitty round shot from the trees, and everything stops. Inside, everything stops and Brad forgets how to do the one thing he knows how to do. When he catches up, it’s like the world is in fast forward, and then Ray’s in Nevada and he’s looking at himself, and he says,  _Homes, I don’t know_ what  _the fuck you flew out here for_ , and looking at himself, Ray wants, or maybe _Brad_ wants, and he’s  _okay_  with wanting, and then his hands are smushing Ray’s face, Ray saying,  _That’s hardly asking nicely,_ and Brad  _knows_  this feeling, and so  _Ray_  knows this feeling, and then he’s dropping into the wave, and the water is curling around him, a tunnel of water, the world at the end getting smaller and smaller, but it’s still there, and Brad’s heart is pounding because he knows how this can go. He can feel the tightness in his lungs just thinking about it, remembering being held under and trying not to panic, but then he breaks through the other side and all he can feel is adrenaline and elation, and it’s just sun and sand and the horizon, and Ray sitting on a towel on the beach. Ray’s skin warm under his cold and clammy palm, Ray’s mouth dropped a little open. His heart rate is steady, but it feels like it should be racing. Ray’s smiling and he’s studying it, trying to remember it, Ray’s smile and the fucked up teeth that Ray hates but that he loves, and he doesn’t do many things right, but Ray was one of the—

Ray blinks back into himself.

“Homes,” he says. He’s smiling so wide his face hurts from it. “That was  _unbelievably_ gay.”   

Brad doesn’t respond, but he leaves his fingers there, on the bone of Ray’s ankle, as he shakes the water out of his hair with his free hand.


End file.
